


standing with an army

by thistidalwave



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fourth of July, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5528774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/pseuds/thistidalwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>‘You’re helping now. Talking to someone is good. I just wish I weren’t alone here,</i>‘ Eric sends, and then he immediately feels silly for putting the last part.</p>
<p><i>‘Anytime,’</i> Jack replies, and Eric smiles dumbly at his phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	standing with an army

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biblionerd07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/gifts).



Eric lies on his bed and stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck haphazardly to his ceiling, pale in the mid-afternoon sunlight streaming through his windows. Everything is bright and cheery, a typical sunny and scorching late-June day. It’s the perfect contrast, Eric thinks, to the dark ball of gloom his current emotions are. 

It was a normal Monday, positively lovely, really, and then Eric had to go and decide to open his big mouth, and now the tension in the house is palpable. Every time Eric closes his eyes, he can see the impression of Coach’s carefully-blank expression when Eric said “I’m gay” on the back of his eyelids. Eric can’t stop crying.

After coming out to his mom was so much easier than he thought it would be—she hugged him and said she loved him no matter what, and that was that—Eric let himself hope. He let himself build that hope up for a few weeks, let it fortify his courage, and then, when they were all having lunch and everyone seemed to be in a good mood, Eric let himself say it. 

No one is in a good mood now. Eric yanks another tissue out of the box by his bed and wipes at his face. God, he’s so stupid. Of course Coach wasn’t going to tell him he loved him and hug him, he’s never been a touchy-feely man, but Eric thought—he thought he would at least get some acknowledgement more than an “okay” right before an abrupt topic change. 

“He’ll come around,” his mom whispered to him when they were doing the dishes, but Eric isn’t so sure. He’s already so many things his dad didn’t want him to be, and this—well, it feels like he’s finally crossed the line in Coach’s mind. He can’t accept that his son is gay, so he has to pretend he never heard the words aloud. 

His phone is buzzing periodically on the bed next to him. He’s been ignoring it, figuring it’s mostly group text messages that he doesn’t want to engage with right now, but he has to stop crying _some_ time. He fumbles for it and swipes at the screen. 

His notifications are mostly from the group text, plus a few from Twitter, but there’s also an individual text message from Jack. Eric taps on it and reads ‘ _Would you send me that recipe for that apple pie you make?’_

On any other day. Eric would take this opportunity to tease Jack about how much he likes that pie and how he would need to trade Eric something for the recipe, but today he can’t muster the energy. He doesn’t want to ignore Jack, though, so he replies, _‘Sure, I’ll email it later :)’_

Jack’s response is prompt. _‘Thanks,’_ he says, and then a few moments later, ‘ _How are you?’_

Eric snorts at his phone. If only Jack knew what he’d be in for if Eric told him how he really was. He doesn’t need to be bothering Jack with that, though, so he replies, _‘Good. You?’_

_‘‘I’m fine,’_ Jack says. _‘You don’t seem fine though.’_

Eric sucks in a surprised breath. How the hell would Jack know that? Eric’s almost offended by the assumption. He has no idea how to respond. 

_‘Sorry if I’m wrong,_ ‘ Jack follows that up with. Eric rolls his eyes fondly. 

_‘Why do you think so?’_ Eric replies. 

_‘1-2 word texts were an indication,’_ Jack says. _‘And you haven’t said anything in the group text all day. Do you want to talk about it? No pressure.’_

Eric stares at the text. The reality is that he _‘does_ want to talk about it, at least to have someone validate how he’s feeling right now if nothing else, and here Jack is, offering to listen. He’d be stupid to say no. _‘Not a lot to say_ ‘, he replies. ‘ _Came out to my dad. Less than stellar results.’_

_‘Angry?’_ Jack responds.

_‘No? Just. Quiet. Ignored it. Shouldn’t have been a surprise, I guess, he ignores everything else about me that he doesn’t like, so why would this be any different?’_

_‘‘That’s shit, Bittle, I’m sorry. He shouldn’t ignore you. You don’t deserve that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,_ ‘ Jack says.

Eric has to close his eyes when he reads that text, all his feelings for Jack flooding to the surface. There goes Jack again, being the perfect captain even though he’s not Eric’s captain anymore. There goes Jack again, being the unattainable guy Eric stupidly fell for.

_‘‘You’re helping now. Talking to someone is good. I just wish I weren’t alone here,_ ‘ Eric sends, and then he immediately feels silly for putting the last part.

_‘Anytime,’_ Jack replies, and Eric smiles dumbly at his phone. It feels like an end to the conversation, so he doesn’t respond.

A while later, when he’s playing a game and trying not to think about anything but, he gets another text from Jack. ‘ _You know how else I knew you weren’t OK?’_

_‘How?’_

_‘You gave up that recipe too easily.’_

Eric laughs despite himself. _‘Haven’t sent it yet, Mr. Zimmermann,’_ he replies.

_‘Touché.’_

—

Eric does his best to not think of it after that. He emerges from his room for dinner and both his parents are civil, even if his dad is overly so. He watches TSN in the evening with his dad, neither of them making any comments like they usually do, and they go to bed in silence. Eric spends the next day baking, which at least helps him feel a little more settled. Following the directions of a recipe is always soothing. 

The tension lingers, though, no matter how hard Eric tries to ignore it. He sends one text to Jack in the late evening that says _‘I feel like Coach is avoiding even looking at me, but then I think I’m being stupid??’_ Jack doesn’t respond, and Eric goes to bed feeling like an idiot all over again.

He’s eating breakfast late the next morning when his phone vibrates with a text. It’s from Jack. Eric blinks at it, frowns, and reads it again.

_‘Can you give me your address?’_

_‘Why?’_ Eric asks. It’s not that he minds giving Jack his address, he just can’t help his curiosity. 

It takes a few minutes for Jack to respond, and when he does, Eric nearly drops his phone on the table. _‘I’m at the airport in Atlanta.’_

Eric thought he might want to _mail_ something, not that he was _here._ He sends a string of question marks, then says, ‘ _Stay put, I’m coming to get you.’_

It takes less than an hour to get to the airport from Eric’s house, but only because he floors it as much as he thinks his truck can stand on the way there. It’s still too much time to think about how Jack _came to see him_. Jack is here because Eric said he didn’t want to be alone. At least, that’s why Eric is assuming he came. He doesn’t know what else it would be. He feels guilty already about how much it must have cost. 

He sees Jack in the airport before Jack sees him. He’s sitting at a table, reading a book, and he looks unbearably good. Eric has to take a moment to compose himself before he walks over and touches Jack’s shoulder gently. “Hey,” he says.

Jack’s smile when he looks up at Eric makes him lose his breath all over again. “Hi,” Jack says warmly as he stands, and Eric hugs him because he can’t not. Jack hugs back. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” Jack says. “I was going to rent a car.”

Eric lets go and steps back, shaking his head. “ _I_ didn’t have to come all this way? Look who’s talkin’, mister.”

Jack looks sheepish. “I wanted to,” he says simply, as if that explains everything. Eric’s heart aches. Sometimes he wishes Jack wasn’t so damn easy to love. There were so many moments, over coffee at Annie’s and at Spring C and in the Haus after Jack bought Eric an _oven_ , that made Eric want to throw all caution to the wind and just _tell_ Jack, but he never managed to do it. 

In the aftermath of what happened when he threw caution to the wind with Coach, Eric thinks that might have been the right call—but then again, here’s Jack. In Georgia. 

“It’s good to see you,” Eric says. 

Jack smiles. “You, too.” 

—

It’s weird, having Jack here, but a nice kind of weird, Eric decides. He takes him on a driving tour of Madison and to his favourite diner for a late lunch before they head back to the house. It’s empty, both of his parents at work, and Eric feels awkward showing Jack around. Jack pauses at the pictures of Eric from throughout his life hung on the wall in the hallway, and Eric blushes and tries to drag him along.

“You were cute,” Jack teases, and Eric rolls his eyes. “No, really. I like this one.” He points at a picture of Eric with his high school hockey team. 

“I _was_ cute?” Eric asks. “I still look like that!” 

Jack shrugs, and Eric feels himself turn even more red. Jack opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, and then the front door opens behind him and they both turn to look at Eric’s mom coming in. 

Eric texted both his parents to tell them a friend had shown up at the airport as a surprise and that he was going to get him, but Suzanne still looks surprised when she sees Jack. She’s got her arms full of grocery bags, and Jack steps forward to take some from her before Eric can say anything at all. 

“It’s so nice to see you again, Mrs. Bittle,” Jack says.

“It was awful nice of you to come visit,” she says, making wide eyes at Eric when Jack turns to go to the kitchen. Eric shrugs at her. “How long are you plannin’ to stay?” 

“Just the weekend,” Jack says.

“Well, it was a good time to come,” Suzanne replies, and Eric’s heart nearly skips a beat before she adds, “You’ll be here for the Fourth of July festivities, isn’t that exciting?” 

“For sure,” Jack agrees. “Where do you want this?” He holds up a jar of peanut butter.

“Oh, the cupboard over here, please, that would be great,” Suzanne says. “Dicky, can you go get the rest of the bags from the car?” 

Eric goes. When he gets back, he pauses in the doorway of the kitchen and watches for a moment. Jack doesn’t quite look like he belongs here, putting away groceries with Eric’s mom, but it definitely looks like he _could_. 

Eric stops thinking about it.

—

Eric has trouble sleeping because he keeps fretting about what he’s going to _do_ with Jack—he needs to be able to plan for these things!—and also because Jack is sleeping _in his bed_ , and Eric can hear him breathing steadily from where he’s set up on the floor. He’s never wished they had a guest bedroom more. 

He’s wide awake the next morning more because he’s overcompensating for being tired than anything, and he admits, while pouring Jack a cup of coffee and refusing to meet his eyes, that he doesn’t have any ideas for things to do.

“There’s just not much to see that I didn’t show you yesterday, and I guess we could go to the lake or something but that’s a whole production and I don’t know if you’d want to deal with that, it’s supposed to be stupid hot today, or we could stay here and start planning the menu for the Fourth of July, though really that’s already done, or—”

“Bitty,” Jack interrupts. “We don’t have to do anything elaborate. We can just hang out, eh?” 

Eric blinks at him and then nods. “Right,” he says. “Hanging out.” 

He lasts half an hour of sitting in the living room poking at his phone before he’s asking, “What do we _do_ while we’re hanging out?” 

Jack shrugs, smirking with amusement. 

“I don’t feel like I’m being a good host, Jack, that’s all I’m saying,” Eric says. “What do you usually do at home?” 

“This,” Jack replies. Eric sighs, and Jack snickers. “Okay, uh…” His eyes light up. “Got any hockey sticks lying around?” 

Eric obviously does have a couple hockey sticks lying around. It turns out that Jack, who literally gets paid to play hockey now, still thinks the epitome of cool things to do in the summer is play road hockey. It’s a good thing, Eric thinks, that he has such a big driveway—and also the foresight to bring out a bunch of water bottles and make sweet tea for later. 

“You sure you don’t want sunscreen?” Eric asks skeptically from the porch. Jack is already in the driveway, idly stickhandling the tennis ball Eric found in the garage. He stops and props an arm on the top of his stick, leaning against it. Eric tries not to ogle his arms and fails.

“I should probably put some on,” Jack allows, and Eric breathes a sigh of relief. He is not going to be responsible for Jack Zimmermann turning into a lobster. 

Once they’re adequately prepared, they spend a good couple hours messing around in the driveway. They set up makeshift nets using empty plastic flowerpots and play one-on-one until Eric gets sick of losing and lies down in the grass at the edge of the front lawn, refusing to play anymore. 

Jack leans over him, blocking out the sun. “Come on, Bittle,” he wheedles. “You almost had me that last time.”

“Please,” Eric says. waving a dismissive hand, “I don’t stand a chance.” 

“Not true,” Jack says. 

“True! I can cite six games of evidence,” Eric says. “I’m the least amount of a threat.”

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice taking on that tone of teasing Eric knows so well. “I find you pretty threatening.”

“Oh yeah?” Eric says, stomach swooping at the way Jack is smiling softly down at him. 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “So come on, scare me.” He pokes at Eric’s side with the end of his stick. 

Eric sighs and drags himself to his feet. “Roar,” he says, brandishing his stick in Jack’s direction. Jack pretends to be spooked and runs to the other side of the driveway, and Eric cracks up. 

“Come on,” Jack says, grinning wide and tapping his stick like he wants Eric to pass. Eric rolls his eyes, still laughing, and picks the ball back out of the bush it ended up in. 

“You want it?” he teases, and Jack nods. “Come and get it, then.” He keeps his body facing toward Jack, posture open and ball positioned so it’s easy to steal, but the second Jack stops hesitating and goes for it, Eric turns and carefully protects the ball. He ends up with Jack pressed along his side, trying to poke check the ball away from him with limited results. 

“How’s this for a threat?” Eric teases breathlessly, trying to both get a good line of vision to Jack’s ‘net’ and pay attention to what Jack is doing. He almost loses the ball and only just reins it back in when Jack pokes it away from him. 

Eric gives up on finding a line of sight with the huge screen that is Jack covering him and spins abruptly, firing the ball across the driveway. To his surprise, it actually does go straight through the space between the flowerpots, and Eric automatically pumps his fist in the air.

Jack is looking away, having followed the ball with his eyes, but when he turns back to Eric, he’s smiling. Eric abruptly realizes that he essentially turned _in Jack’s arms_ , and now they’re so close they could kiss if they leaned in slightly. “What did I tell you?” Jack says. “Pretty good threat.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eric says. “As if your endorsement is why I just scored.” 

Jack shrugs. He doesn’t move, just staring down and holding Eric’s gaze, and Eric swallows, thinking about Jack pressed up against his side. He could swear, for a moment, that Jack follows the movement and looks straight at Eric’s lips, but then he thinks he might have been seeing things.

Jack’s eyes flick up and over Eric’s head, then drop back down. “Your dad’s on the porch,” he says quietly. 

Eric frowns, stepping backward and turning around. Sure enough, Coach is leaning against the railing, obviously watching them. Eric lifts a hand in a cautious wave, and Coach straightens up, lifting a hand for a moment before disappearing inside the house. It feels like an abrupt dismissal, and Eric feels slightly queasy. 

“He’s pretty quiet,” Jack observes. It’s true in the context of his visit so far; every time he and Coach are in the same room, Coach doesn’t say anything. Eric is fairly sure that it’s less because of Jack and more because Eric is _also_ in the room. 

“Not usually,” Eric says grimly. He avoids meeting Jack’s gaze and goes to retrieve the ball.

—

They have dinner together that evening. Jack and Eric sit across from each other, Eric’s parents on either end of the table. Eric and his mom do a decent job of filling the silence, just like they always do, but the table lapses into it for a minute, and Coach clears his throat.

“So, Jack,” he says. “How long have you and Junior been dating?” 

Eric freezes, staring across the table at Jack, his forkful of broccoli halfway to his mouth. “We’re n—” Eric starts, but Jack kicks Eric under the table and Eric cuts himself off, alarmed.

“It feels like forever, right, Eric?” Jack says, looking straight at Eric. Eric swallows around the lump in his throat and doesn’t move. He has no idea what’s going on anymore. Jack looks over at Coach and smiles almost shyly. “I guess it hasn’t been official long, though. Just since the end of the school year.”

Coach nods and goes back to his food without another word. 

Eric has no idea what the _fuck_ just happened.

—

It makes sense, Eric is willing to admit, that his dad would think that Jack is his boyfriend. He did just visit without warning in the middle of summer, right after Eric came out to Coach, and Coach has undoubtedly heard Eric talk about Jack for too long on more than one occasion. Eric’s father is not an unobservant or unintelligent man, and he is not a man who shies away from making assumptions. 

What Eric _doesn't_ understand is why Jack is going along with this particular assumption. Eric ends up needing to have a hushed conversation with his mother while doing the dishes in which he assures her that he hasn’t _intentionally_ been keeping Jack a secret from her, he was just self-conscious about it and didn’t want to jinx anything. She looks suspicious but happy for him, and Eric hates every second of it. He doesn’t want to tell the truth until he’s at least talked to Jack about this, but it sucks.

Jack and Coach are sitting on the couch when the dishes are done, and Eric hovers in the doorway behind them for a moment, listening.

“Yeah, that’s right, the Falconers,” Jack says. “They’re fairly new, but they’ve got some good people. It’s a pretty good fit for me.” 

Coach nods. “And they don’t care that you’re…”

Eric wants to sink into the floor and disappear, but Jack looks unperturbed. “They know,” he says. “I’m not going to come out yet, I want my rookie season to be about my hockey, but maybe down the road. I’m sure they’d be supportive.” He shrugs.

Coach nods again. Eric can’t see his face, so he can’t even try to read his feelings on that. He also has no idea how Jack can say those things so easily. He’s never thought of Jack as a good liar, but then again, he supposes he wouldn’t know if Jack was.

“Hey,” Eric says, stepping into the room. 

They both turn to look at him. To his surprise, Coach actually smiles at him. “Hey, Junior,” he says. “You gonna watch the game tonight?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Eric agrees. “Jack, can I talk to you for a minute first? Outside?” 

“Sure,” Jack says, getting up. He follows Eric out onto the back porch and down the steps to the backyard. “What’s up?” he asks when Eric stops.

“What’s up with _you_?” Eric says. “Why did you let my father think…”

Jack looks distinctly uncomfortable. “It seemed like a good idea? He seems to be fine with it.”

Eric snorts. “What, did you think if _you_ tell him that you’re gay then that’s going to fix the fact that I am? I appreciate you coming here, Jack, really, I do, but this is a whole ‘nother level. You don’t have to fight my battles for me.” 

“I’m not… I’m not trying to fight your battles for you,” Jack says, and Eric shakes his head in disbelief. He can’t believe the _nerve_ Jack has.

“Well, it sure feels like you are,” he says, getting more upset by the moment. “It seems like he only thinks it’s fine now because it’s fine if _you’re_ queer, not me.”

Jack shakes his head. His expression is so sympathetic and soft that Eric wants to scream. “Bitty, your dad loves you,” he says quietly. “He just has a hard time expressing it. I would know, my father’s the same way.” 

Eric feels bad for a moment, thinking about how hard it’s obviously been for Jack to grow up in his father’s shadow, but the moment is fleeting. “I don’t care what you think you know,” Eric hisses. “What would you know about coming out, anyway?” 

Jack looks like Eric just slapped him. He opens his mouth, then closes it. 

“Yeah,” Eric says, “that’s what I thought.” He turns and stalks back up the steps and into the house before he _or_ Jack can say anything else and make this any worse. 

—

Eric goes to his room at first, but then he remembers he said he would watch the game, so he goes back downstairs after taking a few minutes to mostly compose himself. Coach is alone in the living room, Jack nowhere to be seen. When Eric gets a drink from the kitchen, he looks out the window and can see Jack in the front garden with Eric’s mother, talking about something over the bed of petunias. Eric turns away in a huff, imagining all the nonsense things Jack might be saying about their so-called relationship.

His father looks up when he comes into the room and nods in greeting. Eric sits down in his favorite armchair and stares at the TV. Baseball is his favourite sport to watch with Coach because neither of them know very much about it and both of them have a lot of opinions anyway. Eric throws himself into making the snarkiest comments he can muster about the game, and Coach joins in with gusto. For a while, Eric completely forgets that things between them are weird.

It takes twenty minutes before Coach asks Eric where Jack is. Eric shrugs. “Doing his own thing,” he says. “Whatever.” He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. Coach doesn’t comment.

It’s not terribly long after that when the game goes to a commercial break, and Coach turns to look at Eric. “Son,” he starts, “I think I owe you an apology.” 

Eric looks over at him, startled. “What?” 

“I’ve been actin’... less than ideal,” Coach says, “since you told me, y’know. You gotta understand, no father wants that for their son. Things are already hard for you because you’re so different, and I just don’t want to see you getting hurt, you hear?” 

He pauses, waiting, and Eric nods, heart stuck in his throat. 

“Being… gay… that just makes things harder. But seein’ you with that boy and having some talks with your mother have reminded me that the most important thing to me is that you’re happy, and if you have to fight to be happy, then I’m gonna be in your corner, all right? I’m not going to be one of the things making it hard.” 

Tears spring to Eric’s eyes, and he turns his face away from his father to wipe at them. He clears his throat. “Thanks, Coach,” he says. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Coach say so many words about his feelings in a row. For once in Eric’s life, he doesn’t have any words to respond with. “I, um, really appreciate you saying so.” 

Coach nods and looks back at the TV, obviously considering the conversation over. His comment about Jack is niggling at Eric, though, and eventually he can’t stand it anymore. “Um,” he says, just as the pitcher is winding up to throw, his eyes fixed on the TV, “would you be okay with it even if I wasn’t… with Jack?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Coach frown. “If that was making you happy, yes,” he says after a moment. “From what I’ve seen he’s a fine fellow, but it’s your business.”

Eric nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat. It looks like he has an apology of his own to make. “Okay,” he says, and then, softer, “Okay.” 

—

Eric doesn’t apologize right away for reasons that fall somewhere between the fact that he and Jack both go to bed early without talking much and the fact that he’s not quite sure what to say. He thinks having more time to think about it will help, but it doesn’t really.

It’s not until the next morning, when they’re in the kitchen making pie for the Fourth of July barbeque, that Eric works up the nerve. Jack is carefully reading the recipe and getting the ingredients ready just like Eric told him he should when they worked together on that project what feels like ages ago, and Eric can’t stand the quiet anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, putting down the jar of flour on the table harder than necessary. Jack jumps slightly. “Sorry. I was rude last night, all you’ve been doing all this time is trying to help, and I really appreciate it. Mind, I still don’t quite think I agree with how you went about it, but it came from the heart, and it really didn’t hurt anyone, right? It’s not a big deal if I just tell my parents we broke up after a bit, it’s understandable since you’re going to the NHL and all, you’ll be busy and it’ll seem totally amicable. Anyway. You weren’t wrong about my dad, so. Thank you for being on my side. I don’t need someone to fight my battles for me, but it’s good to have backup.” He stops, taking a deep breath. 

Jack takes so long to respond that Eric nearly vibrates out of his skin. “Apology accepted,” he says. “And I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have forced you into a situation where you had to lie.” 

Eric nods. “Thank you,” he says. He moves to go back to baking, figuring that’s that conversation done, but he stops when Jack speaks again.

“But, um,” Jack says, staring down at the recipe card in front of him. Eric waits. “There’s something you should know.” 

“Okay. Should I be sitting?” Eric jokes. 

Jack laughs slightly. “Maybe,” he says, so Eric does sit down. Jack takes a breath. “I’m bisexual,” he says. “And you’re not the first person to know that—my parents know, and Georgia knows, and… a few other friends.”

“Oh,” Eric says. He doesn’t know what to say; coming out is such a huge thing. It’s not like Eric didn’t have some suspicions after Epikegster, and it’s not like he hasn’t done more than his fair share of wishing, but it’s entirely different to have Jack say it out loud. Jack is looking at him so softly that Eric feels like he’s been trusted with a part of Jack’s heart, as stupid as that sounds. “Thank—thank you for telling me.” He pauses, then cringes. “Gosh, I must have sounded so stupid when I said you didn’t know anything about coming out.”

Jack shrugs. “Not stupid,” he says. “It’s not like you knew.” 

“Stupid,” Eric insists. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll accept that apology, too, then,” Jack says. “What do you say we get started on making this pie?” 

“Yeah,” Eric agrees, “let’s do it.” 

—

The neighborhood barbeque on the Fourth of July is a huge production, one that Eric loves participating in. Everyone raves about his pie, which is always flattering, and he gets to talk recipes with the ladies from around the block and sports with the men, and it’s generally a day of good vibes and good food. 

It’s even more fun, Eric discovers, with Jack on his arm. For all Jack hates crowds, he’s very good at charming people, and he whispers hilariously snide comments to Eric when he’s least expecting it. Eric almost snorts his drink out of his nose on more than one occasion. 

By the time night starts to fall, both Jack and Eric have had a couple drinks. Jack seems unaffected, but Eric is feeling pleasantly floaty. “We should stake out a spot on the hill to watch the fireworks,” Eric says. 

“Now?” Jack asks. “Isn’t it a bit early?” 

Eric shakes his head. “If we’re early, we get the best pick.” he tells Jack seriously.

“Can’t argue with that,” Jack says. 

They do find the perfect spot on the hill to spread out the worn gray blanket Eric owns for expressly this purpose. They sit to wait, and Eric thinks about how much he’s always wished to have someone to kiss in front of the fireworks. It seems hilarious that now he’s here, sitting alone with a boy he wants to kiss, and his parents both not only know he’s gay, but also think that the boy he’s up on the hill with is his boyfriend.

Eric is hyper-aware of the space between his and Jack’s thighs. He barely needs to shift to close it, and when he does, Jack looks at him but doesn’t move. 

“Hey,” Eric says.

“Hey back,” Jack replies. 

Eric grins dumbly. “This,” he says, feeling reckless, “is perfect date material. I mean, Fourth of July? Pie? Fireworks? What more do you need?” 

Jack smiles back at Eric. “Nothing at all,” he says, and Eric’s heart skips a beat. 

“It’s too bad we’re not actually dating,” Eric jokes. It comes out much more wistful than he meant it to.

Jack hums, looking away over the mostly empty field. The light is the gray of just after sunset, and Eric has to squint to resolve the fuzzy edges of Jack’s profile. “Would you… want to be?” Jack asks. 

“Uh,” Eric stutters, defensive, “would _you_?” 

Jack looks back at Eric. “Well…” he says, trailing off, and Eric stares at him, disbelieving. Jack stares back, not breaking eye contact, and everything seems to slow down. 

Eric lets himself lean in slightly, and Jack must be leaning, too, because Eric definitely didn’t lean far enough to feel Jack’s breath on his cheek, but he can, so. He tilts his head back slightly, and the movement brushes their lips together. Both of them gasp quietly, and then they’re kissing for real. 

There are a lot of questions to be answered about what this means and where they’re going from here, but in the moment, Eric doesn’t give a shit about any of it. For now, being able to kiss Jack in the shadows of dusk, soft and tentative and exploring, is good enough. It’s so much more than Eric ever would have guessed he’d get.


End file.
